


Scene from a Dark AU

by claudiapriscus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark Dean Winchester, Episode: s04e16 On the Head of a Pin, Gen, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudiapriscus/pseuds/claudiapriscus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean decides to embrace his differences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scene from a Dark AU

**Author's Note:**

> So a little while back, I ended up talking with some of the flist about Farscape and the madness of John Crichton- the way that Farscape is one of the few genre shows that truly followed through on the consequences of the horrific amounts of trauma it put its main characters through, and not just treating trauma like a head cold. John Crichton falls through the looking glass, and never really finds his way back- but it's rarely simply used as a way of adding some angst to the proceedings. This conversation coincided with a prompt over at Hoodie Time asking for a Dean who isn't interrupted in On the Head of a Pin (e.g. Uriel isn't a traitor) and goes whole hog with the torturing, and as a result has a mental breakdown. And this inspired me to muse that a season 4 Dean embracing the madness ala Crichton presented some interesting possibilities. This little fic is kind of proof-of-concept. 
> 
> Warning: this is...yeah, kind of messed up. And feels like a weird kind of crack. I have no excuses

Dean's humming as Sam approaches. The sound carries through the warehouse, a low and tuneless sound, just at the edge of hearing. That's not so unusual. Sam can't remember a time – well, at least a time _before_ – when Dean didn't tend to fall into some tuneless and under-the-breath humming when working on some mindless but attention-demanding chore. It used to drive Sam crazy- he never imagined he would miss it. And once he did, he'd never have thought that its return would send little currents of dread coursing through him.

There's a large clear sheet of plastic between him and Dean, and while it's transparent enough that he can recognize the figure of his brother, it's too opaque to see the details of what he's doing. But Sam can guess, and none of it is particularly reassuring. There aren't too many happy explanations for the red smears and splatters. And the smell- that blend if iron and sulfur- he'd know anywhere.

Sam pushes back the plastic and steps through. Dean doesn't even twitch. Doesn't jump back and look guilty. Just continues on with what he's been doing. “Dean, what- what are you _doing_?”

Dean ignores the question.“You know, Sammy, I think we've been going about this all the wrong way.” he says, nonchalant. Sam can only stare, caught between shock and- _revulsion_. All the bodies he's seen- all the bodies he's made...there shouldn't be any room left for revulsion, but this- this is obscene. He watches as Dean idly peels back the flesh on the demon's stolen hands, and as many terrible things he's seen, nothing quite rivals the look of calm workmanship on Dean's face as he methodically whittles the demon down to the bone. The demon lets out a little mewling sound and twitches, and in response Dean picks up another knife and stabs it through the palm, pinning the hand to the table like a butterfly.

“I mean,” Dean continues, gesturing with the other knife, careless of the gore sent flying, “C'mon! Play to your strengths. That's like rule number one, right? Maybe if we spent a little more time doing that, we'd spend less time getting our asses kicked up and down the whole damn country.”

Sam turns away, towards Dean, just enough that the ruined face and ravaged remains of the poor demon-possessed bastard on the table exists only in his peripheral vision. “Dean, man, I get it, I do. Let's go on the offensive. I'm all for that. Track Lilith down and feed her her own entrails-”

Dean's nodding along, his attention clearly elsewhere. “Hey, there's an idea.” he says. He twirls the knife, then leans down over the man on the table, just inches from the man's remaining eye. “What do you think, Frank? Change it up a little- a little liver, a little chianti?”

“Dean-”

Dean bounds back, spinning on his heel to face Sam again. “Sorry, Sam. You were saying...? Please, I'm all ears.” The tone is right, but the look in his eyes is....wrong. Dean glances down at his hand, and Sam follows his gaze to the fleshy remnant still clasped between his fingers. Dean catches his eye. “Maybe more literally than normal.” He tosses the ear at the man on the table, wipes his hand on his apron, grabs the chair next to the table and spins it around to sit on it. “So. What's up?”

This is not how Sam expected this to go. Not at all. There's something so unnerving about Dean's coiled but casual demeanor that Sam's muttered _christo_ is more reflexive than voluntary, the word leaping from his lips before he even thinks to question it.

Dean rolls his eyes.“I'm not possessed, Sam,” he says, drumming his fingers against the chair back . “Thought you'd know that, seeing as how you're the demon whisperer now.” The words are vicious,should be vicious- but his tone isn't. It's conversational. Teasing, even. Dean grabs the bottle next to him and takes a swig. There's a rosary at the bottom. He makes a show of gargling, then turns and spits it at the body behind him. Where the water hits, it smokes. “See? I'm fine. Don't you have like, demon radar? Because if you're gonna go down that road, you might as well try for something useful.”

 

Sam breathes heavily through his nose. “That's not how it works.” He's off balance, he knows it, but he can handle it. Handle this. Dean's break down or possession or whatever it is.

“No?” Dean gives Sam an appraising look, then rolls his eyes.. “Let me guess. You need...oh, let's see... sixty more box tops for the x-ray glasses. Better start eating your wheaties.” He glances back at Sam. “Jesus, Sam. Take a joke, and calm down before you have a coronary.”

“Me? Damn it, Dean. What is _with you_. You've gone of the friggin' deep end and you're telling me to calm down?” Something dark and dangerous flashes across Dean's face, almost too fast for Sam to register. For a moment- for half a moment- Sam finds himself bracing for an attack, but instead Dean lets out a whoop of laughter. It almost sounds genuine. “You think this is the deep end?” Dean's smile grows wider, more full of teeth. He picks up his knife and idly wipes it clean. He shakes his head.“We haven't even left the kiddie pool, Sammy. I don't think you're ready for the _deep_ end.”

“The _fuck,_ Dean. You're torturing some poor bastard-”

Dean tuts- and then _actually_ waves a finger at Sam. “Demon, Sam. I'm torturing some poor _demon_. Let's keep it straight.”

“He's a person too, or doesn't that matter to you anymore? There's someone in there, and you're-”

“Doing what needs to be done.” Dean rolls his eyes. “But you can unbunch your panties. I took care of that. I'm not a _monster._ Well. At least, not that much of one.”

“And what does that even mean? _Jesus,_ Dean.”

“Not exactly,” he says. “But close enough. Turns out, our buddies the angels know _all_ sorts of useful tricks. Know the right magic symbol, and you can pop a soul out of a body just like a cork.” He makes a popping sound to illustrate. “And then it's all the fun, none of the angst.” He turns back to the body on the table. “And we're having some fun, aren't we Frank?”

The demon moans. Dean shakes his head. “Like music to my ears. Damn, I'm good.”

Sam just stares. “What the hell happened to you? First you're- you're-”

“Umm...weak? Mopey? Angry? Crazy?” Dean suggests, half joking, but dangerous too. “C'mon, give me a hint here, Sam.”

Sam feels his fists clench. Even batshit- even after everything, Dean still won't give him any credit, won't take him seriously. “You think this is a joke? You think I'm joking?”

“You tell me, Sam. Does this look like my joking face? Admit it already. You've been thinking it since I got back. I'm..., hmm,” he purses his lips in the parody of a thoughtful expression. “Half the man I used to be? Broken? Ooh, how about this one: I came back _wrong_.” He bites off the last word, clearly relishing it.

Sam glares. “You gonna argue that point?”

“Hell, no. Look at this. I'm putting the best training damnation can buy to work here. I _know_ I'm crazy. Which is more than I can say about you, but hey. The first step is admitting you have a problem, right?”

“Problem? Tell me Dean, what problem do _I_ have?”

Dean rolls his eyes again. “Seriously? Dude, I don't know if you've noticed, but you're an after school special waiting to happen. Denial ain't pretty, Sam.”

“I'm a-” Sam says, then stops, clenching his jaw. “And then what does that make this? What does that make you?”

Dean spins a finger near his ear. “Crazy, Sam. Haven't you been listening? But I'm owning it. Which brings me back to my actual point. Look, I know this is probably not what you're expecting to hear,” Dean continues, “But I want you to know- it's just I had this kind of...well, let's just call it an epiphany, and it's clarified a few things for me. What I'm trying to say is- look, even with all the demon dark-side shit – which is clearly not doing you any favors, by the way- you're my brother, and we need to stick by each other. That's gotta be the first priority. I hate it. Hate what you're doing to yourself, but we've got bigger fish to fry, and you're a grown fucking man. Being at each other's throats, this secrecy shit- it's a weakness we can't afford right now.”

Sam feels the world tipping sideways on him. “Dammit, Dean. That- that's what I've been saying, we need to be on the same page, so _why_ -”

Dean ignores him, just leans forward, completely sincere. “And we are. I heard you. Lilith, entrails, it's a great plan. This-” he waves a hand at the table behind him “- is just me getting onboard. You say you've been using Ruby for intel-”

“She's been _helping_ -”

Dean waves him off. “Yeah, whatever. How far has it gotten you? Don't answer that. Trust me. I know how this works. I know how they think. You want Lilith? This is how we do that.”

Sam shakes his head.“Or you'll walk straight into a trap. You think I haven't tried this route? Haven't tried beating it out of them? It doesn't work. It never works.”

Dean shrugs. “Maybe you forgot to say the magic word. I know what I'm doing here, Sam.”

“I don't think you do. This is- this is gonna go nowhere. My way works. If you really want to jump on board, if you're really taking the seriously now- then you'll listen to me. Trust me for once, Dean.”

Dean tsks. “You know- and I get that this may come as surprise- but Sam, not _everything_ is about you. You wanna do things your way, well, that's your prerogative. I'm done letting this shit drive a wedge between us. But I'm not going to turn down a chance for some real intel because you've suddenly turned squeamish.”

“That's not what this is.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Is that right? Well, whatever it is, can we wrap it up? I'm on a tight schedule with my buddy Frank here.”

Before Sam can reply, his phone goes off. _Ruby_ . His hands itch to pull it out of his pocket, to check it, double check it, because it's been _days_ and he's put it off too long...but no. He won't give Dean the satisfaction. Dean, who has absolutely lost it, and yet is still making cracks about shit he can't possibly understand.

It doesn't matter. Dean just gives him a knowing look.

“Well, sounds like you've got a playdate you're missing.” He smiles again, and it's too full of teeth for comfort. “You never bring your friends home, Sam. We should change that. Have a little get together, you and me and...Ruby. Since she knows so much.” His smile grows wider. His tone is hearty and warm, but his eyes are dark and hungry.  “I'd love to pick her brain.”

Sam goes cold. “This isn't over,” he says. He clutches the phone in his jacket pocket like a life line. “We're talking about this when I get back.” Dean shrugs, and Sam stalks away, as if distance alone could erase the image of Dean with the knife in his hand and that look in his eye.

“Now, where were we?” Dean says. Behind him, Sam hears the crunch of bone and the wet sound of flesh. The demon's screams follow him out. 


End file.
